Into the Woods
by starbird-16
Summary: Peter Parker has no idea how he got in the woods near Clint Barton's homestead. Thanks to his amnesia, he also has no idea how to get home (or where home is, for that matter.) It's up to Hawkeye to take care of the forgetful spider until Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Dad) can track him down.
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you so much to anyone reading this! Also, this is my first ever fanfic about Spider-man or the Avengers, so I apologize for any mistakes I make. You can always let me know (nicely) in the comments.**

Peter came to gradually. He was lying down on something cold and wet. He wasn't sure where he was, though, because he couldn't quite get his eyes to pry open. Distantly, he was aware that his head was pounding. He let out a groan of pain as he tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position.

After a few more minutes, he was finally able to open his eyes to figure out where exactly he was. His vision still blurry, he saw blots of brown and green. He blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust, and when they did, he realized that he was lying down on the cold, dewy ground of… a forest. _How on earth did I end up here?_ Peter thought. He felt a wave of nausea shoot through his stomach, though he couldn't tell if that was because he was stressed out, alone and disoriented or if he was physically injured.

Once the nausea subsided, Peter sat the rest of the way up, using a nearby tree for support. Only then did he reach up to feel his pounding head and realize that his hair was matted with dried blood. _I must be hurt pretty bad to feel this lousy._ Peter steeled himself before pulling himself up into a standing position, swaying a little unsteadily on his feet.

Then, something happened right at that moment that Peter could not explain. Time seemed to slow down. All the hair on his arms suddenly stood up as he felt a powerful urge to MOVE. Peter managed to duck his head just before something sharp whizzed over him, thudding into a nearby tree.

Peter attempted to turn around to see who almost impaled him with an arrow, but he suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous again. He was barely managing to stand in his injured state, and his rapid ducking movement, as well as the strange tingling sensation that had invaded his nerves, turned out to be more than his body could handle. The last thing he saw before passing out was the shadow of a sinister figure, stalking towards him.

"CRAP!" Clint Barton yelled as he realized his mistake a second too late. His arrow, which he had just let fly, shot away from him, soaring dangerously close to the stupid kid's head.

Clint had been hunting since dawn, so he was considerably tired, and he had been in the middle of tracking down an elusive deer. So when his sharp eyes caught the movement of something furry(ish) and brown, he was expecting to shoot at a deer's hide, not a kid's matted hair.

As Clint reluctantly strode over to where the kid/body was lying in the dirt and grass, all he could think was, _please be alive, please be alive, Laura's going to kill me if she finds out I just killed a kid, I'll be sleeping in the barn for the rest of my life, PLEASE BE ALIVE._

Clint peered over at the kid he may or may not have murdered, watching anxiously for any signs of life. He sighed loudly in relief when he finally saw that the kid (not body, yay) was, in fact, breathing. He took the kid's pulse anyway (because you never know) and assessed him for any injury his arrow had caused.

"Well, look what we have here," Clint mused as he noted the thick, dried blood in the boy's hair. "I suppose I can't leave a poor, helpless child alone in the woods." Clint bent down to pick up the unconscious kid; if he was being honest, he was extremely tempted to hold him up, Rafiki style, and start belting out "The Circle of Life," which he of course knew by heart. Imagining what Laura would do to him if she ever found out, though, kept him from going through with it. Instead, he began the short trek back to his house and the farm, carrying an unconscious kid that was not his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, I don't know what to say except… I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING THIS EARLIER. It's literally been written since January. I struggle with uploading to this site sometimes (I kind of feel like Steve Rogers using a computer), so I guess updating just slipped my mind.**

 **Now would probably be a good time to mention that this story is also posted on Archive of Our Own; it is similarly titled Into the Woods, and I have almost the same username on Aoo (it's starbird16, same as my username here but without the dash).**

 **Thanks for sticking with this story. I've been through a lot since I started writing it, but I am determined to finish.**

Peter woke up to the stereotypical chirping of a bird. As the sound pulled him out of unconsciousness, he forced his tired eyes open so he could take in his surroundings. He was lying down on a twin bed, white sheets pulled up to his chest. His head head also been bandaged while he was passed out.

Peter was pretty confused at this point, because the last thing he remembered was somebody trying to shoot him in the woods. He had fainted right as some menacing figure had been creeping towards him.

Peter tried to backtrack his thoughts to recall what he had been doing _before_ waking up in the woods, only to realize that he just… couldn't remember. It was a strange feeling, not knowing something that should have been inherently obvious. Panic began to set the more he thought about what all he couldn't remember: his full name, where he lived, who to call in an emergency, etc.

He looked around some more at his surroundings. He appeared to be perfectly safe, napping off his injury in a bedroom with lavender walls decorated with homemade crafts and colorful posters. With his damaged head, he couldn't be certain that he _wasn't_ in his own room (though he doubted it, since it didn't seem likely that he had an obsession with Disney princesses and Peppa Pig).

Before Peter could decide what exactly to do next, he heard voices coming from the hallway outside of the bedroom.

"...We've been over this- no, my first instinct is not to murder children… don't give me that look, I thought he was a deer-"

"What kind of professional SHIELD agent, Avenger, and hunter mistakes an innocent teenage boy for animal prey?"

The two voices continued to argue in harsh, whispered voices until the man (the hunter, Peter assumed) cut in, "Alright, alright, you can lecture me all you want later, just… let me check on the kid, okay? It's been awhile, and he'll probably wake up soon."

Peter had a split-second decision to make: run for it, or trust whoever brought him here. Deciding to err on the side of caution, he quickly sat up and slid stealthily off the bed. At least, that's what he wanted to happen. In reality, Peter didn't account for the fact that he was still injured. So, as he tried to stand up, his legs just couldn't support his sudden weight, and he dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

Peter groaned out of frustration as the bedroom door flew open and a man rushed over to him. "Kid," the hunter-guy said, "you better not be too hurt, or I'm really gonna get it from the Mrs."

Peter was too weak to protest as the man lifted him up and set him back down on the bed.

"There you go," the hunter-guy said. "I don't know where you thought you were going, but you would be in for quite a long trip."

"Why? Where am I?" Peter asked, nervously fidgeting with the bandage on his head.

"First of all, _no touchy._ That head of yours has been through enough as it is. It certainly doesn't need you to mess up the bandage and make it bleed again."

Peter dropped his hand back down on his lap. He thought, _'No touchy?' Seriously? This guy must be pretty wacko to quote_ The Emperor's New Groove. _He's a freakin' adult._

Hunter-guy, who was oblivious to Peter's silent judgment, continued. "Second of all, to answer your question, you're basically in the middle of nowhere. I live off the grid, and you're lying in my daughter Lila's bed right now."

Peter mused, _Well, I guess that explains the Disney princess decorations._ "So… what am I doing in your house?" he demanded.

Hunter-guy responded back, "What were you doing in the woods, perfectly imitating a deer?"

"I don't… wait, what?" Peter cocked his head like a confused puppy.

A voice from the hallway called out, "Don't confuse the poor dear. Just make sure he's okay and ask him who we can call to pick him up."

The hunger muttered in response, "See, told you he was a deer… Alright, kid, you look like you're healing pretty fast. Do you know a parent's phone number or someone we can call?"

Peter shakily answered, "No." After the hunter-guy raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly, Peter continued. "I… can't remember. I don't k-know what I was doing or w-who I live with, or-or…" Tears began to trickle down his face. The goofy hunter-guy seemed to completely change his posture and facial expression into something that was almost… fatherly.

"Hey, look, it's gonna be okay." He patted Peter on the back for good measure. "You're probably having trouble in the memory department because of your head injury. But you're gonna be fine."

After a few minutes passed, Peter calmed down a little. Only after Peter's rapid breathing slowed and his sniffles subsided did the man speak again.

"Third of all, my name's Clint."


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, since this chapter is uploaded, you are now officially caught up to the Archive of Our Own users :) Enjoy. Also, as an additional note/ random thought, sorry about the awful page breaks (POV changes). Steve Rogers is my editor.**

Peter tried his best to not make a sound as he hid at the back of the closet in Clint's bedroom. He forced his erratic breathing to slow to a more normal (and quiet) pace.

He had been hiding in the dark for about ten minutes when the hair on his arms stood up and he just _knew_ somehow that someone was coming. He barely had time to question the strange sensation before the door to the closet was opened and light poured into the space.

"Gotcha!" Peter's four-foot-tall seeker shrieked in delight. "Can we play again?"

Peter smirked in amusement at her enthusiasm. "Maybe after lunch, Lila. My stomach is growling so loud you'd find me in ten seconds instead of ten minutes."

Lila giggled; Peter took her hand and led her back to the kitchen, where the rest of the Barton family was.

Over the past few days, Peter had grown quite fond of Clint's kids, especially Lila. He loved to make her laugh, and she enjoyed having a playmate who wasn't embarrassed to play with barbies like her brother was.

The only thing that soured Peter's time with her was his growing frustration with his amnesia. He wanted so badly to remember something, _anything,_ even remotely useful for tracking his real home down. Instead, all he could come up were things like pop culture references and annoying commercials.

A few days ago, Clint had called a doctor from SHIELD to assess Peter's condition. He had assured the Bartons that all Peter needed was time for his head to heal, and he would remember things naturally. That advice did little to console Peter, however, when days had gone by with no progress at all.

Peter and Lila joined the rest of the Barton family in the kitchen, where Laura had just finished cooking a turkey that Clint had shot last week.

"You know," Clint chuckled, "I think you're pretty good with kids. Maybe once we get you home I could hire you as babysitter full-time."

Peter's smile faltered, and Clint must have noticed because he immediately added, "Don't worry, kiddo, we're gonna get you home in no time."

Peter sighed. "It's been almost a week now, and I still can't remember anything about me. You work for SHIELD, an _intelligence_ agency, and nobody you've contacted seems to know where I came from, and… it's all just looking a little hopeless at this point." He finished his depressed rant by sighing heavily again and plopping down in a chair next to Lila.

Laura spoke up this time, her mother instincts kicking in to comfort the sad teen. "Peter, honey, I know you probably don't want to hear this, but your situation could be a lot worse. You can remember some things, like your first name, the current president, that movie franchise, Star Trek-"

"Star Wars!" Clint and Peter corrected at the same time.

"My point is, you _can_ still remember some things, and until the rest comes back to you, you can stay here with us. You have as long as you need to recover."

"And," Laura added after a brief pause, "as you pointed out, Clint does have SHIELD's resources to help find your family. They haven't linked you with any missing reports yet, but that doesn't mean they're not trying."

Clint patted Peter on the back to further console him. "You know what the doctor said would be good for you? Muscle stimulation. Why don't I take you, Cooper, and Lila outside for a nature walk? You guys can run around to your heart's content."

Clint's proposal was met with three eager affirmations, so after they all finished eating lunch, they began to file out the door for a fun afternoon. Before Clint made it out the door, Laura interjected.

"Clint?"

"Hmm?"

"Try not to shoot him this time."

Tony Stark was not happy. After not hearing from the spider-kid in a few days, he decided to call him to make sure he was still doing okay. 18 unanswered calls later, he decided to try the kid's friend instead.

According to Ned, Peter was home alone at his apartment because Aunt Hottie had to leave for 2 weeks for a work conference. Upon calling her, he found out that Peter was supposed to have asked to stay with the Leeds for those 2 weeks.

He had deduced that Peter tried to stay on his own, rather than be a burden on his friend's parents (not that he _actually_ would have been a burden, that's just what Peter had probably thought).

What truly made Tony Stark angry, though, was that the kid had been going out as Spider-man without his suit. Apparently May banned him from his Spider-man antics while she was away, and she had even taken the suit with her to ensure he wouldn't disobey her.

Unfortunately, she was not as experienced as Tony was with the consequences of taking away the suit. So, Tony was relatively sure that Peter had gone out as Spider-man _without the suit_ and gotten hurt… or worse.

Tony's anger must have shown because even Happy, who had known Tony for years, was afraid to even approach him.

Reluctantly, Happy began to update Tony on the situation. "Well, since his suit is with his aunt, there's no point in tracking it. I tracked his phone, but it was just at his apartment. The last time Peter contacted Ned was 6 days ago. Other than that, we don't have much else to go on."

Tony, whose frustration was growing, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you check his room for his old home-made suit? That's what he would be wearing if he went out as Spider-man."

"I-uh... no. But isn't his old suit just a red hoodie and blue sweatpants anyway?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Pretty much. But still, if it's missing, then at least we know why he disappeared."

Tony pulled out his Stark phone and began typing furiously on it. When he was done, a soft roar like a dozen small airplanes could be heard approaching the city.

Happy inquired, "Uh, sir? What's that noise?"

" _That,_ Happy, is the sound of the Iron Legion scouring every nook and cranny of New York for the spider-boy that is _so grounded_ when I find him!"

Happy, who was at a loss for a response that would not anger Tony further, simply nodded and said, "Oh."

Tony had pretty good faith that the Iron Legion would do their job. But he had come to care for Peter in a way that "pretty good" would not be enough. So, the next thing he did was make a call to someone who had never failed at a mission before.

The screen of Tony Stark's phone simply read, "Calling Natasha Romanoff."


	4. Chapter 4

**Yay! Another new chapter!**

 _Peter felt cold. He was shivering violently, but he got the sense that his shivers were not just being caused by the cold, but also by… something else. Fear? Excitement? Whatever the feeling was, it apparently gave Peter enough confidence to jog to the edge of a rooftop and just blindly leap forward._

 _He wasn't as scared of jumping off a building as he thought he should be. In fact, despite the bitter cold, he was grinning. He fell into a graceful free-fall, not at all worried about his health and safety. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Peter realized he was dreaming, which really took the edge off of the imminent probability of death._

 _Worries aside, he reached out and instinctively made a weird gesture where his middle and ring fingers stretched inward to touch the palm of his hand. Just after he did so, a thin white rope shot out of his wrist and stuck to a nearby awning. Peter was abruptly yanked out of his free-fall and began to swing forward, holding onto the tiny thin line that was keeping him in the air. Just as he was about to hit the climax of his swing, he let go, falling once again._

 _Peter could no longer concentrate on keeping himself in the air. The cold that had been seeping into him was now much stronger than it was before. In horror, Peter watched as his whole arm froze before his eyes, crystallizing into solid ice. He had only a few seconds to be terrified before his body hit the ground beneath him…_

Peter woke from his nap with a jolt. He glanced around at his surroundings groggily, relieved to be back on the couch in the Bartons' living room. Looking down, he noticed that the blanket Clint had thrown over him earlier had fallen onto the floor, leaving his arms exposed. "Okay," Peter muttered to himself, "that's the last time I sleep without a blanket."

At this time Clint entered the room, tripped on one of Cooper's legos, and then proceeded on like he hadn't just face planted in front of his teen house guest.

"Should've bought him Mega Blocks instead," Clint muttered. "Okay, good. You're awake. Dr. Irvine from S.H.I.E.L.D. is here to check up on you again. Come on to the kitchen so we can get started."

Peter followed Clint into the kitchen where Dr. Irvine was waiting. He had his usual briefcase full of basic medical supplies, as well as a pen and flashlight in his hand.

"Alright, Peter, you know the drill. Follow the pen with your eyes."

Peter sighed but obeyed the doctor's instructions, always keeping the pen the focus of his vision. _Huh, I bet without the help of following the pen, I couldn't move my eyes this fluidly._ Distracted by his thoughts, Peter didn't notice when Dr. Irvine started talking to him.

"...really hope you understood all of that, because it's a little complicated to explain to someone who's never had medical training. So, have you got all that, Peter?" Dr. Irvine finished, looking up at the boy expectantly.

"Oh… um, were you talking to me?" Peter lamely supplied.

Dr. Irvine refrained from face-palming. He did, however, let out a loud, irritated sigh. "Who would've thought a doctor, such as myself, was addressing his patient? I was obviously talking to the flashlight."

Before Peter could retort back to defend himself, Clint cut in. "Now Doc, he is on the young side. Cut the kid some slack! Besides, I heard everything you were saying, and I've got the gist. Peter's head was whacked really hard, causing cognitive recalibration. Hopefully, the neurons in his brain will reconnect on their own, and his memories will come back. Isn't that right?"

Dr. Irvine's jaw dropped in surprise. "Well, to put it in layman's terms… yes." He added, "I didn't know a field agent such as yourself was this knowledgeable about cranial injuries."

"Well, let's just say this head has had to be 'recalibrated' before."

"I see. That will be all, Agent Barton. Until Peter here starts to remember something, I'm not sure what else we can do for him."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Seeing as you and I both work for an intelligence agency, I think that statement's a bit inaccurate." He pulled a flash drive with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo out of his pocket and held it out to the doctor. "Since you're about to report back to a Helicarrier, why don't you give this to Agent Romanoff?"

Dr. Irvine let out an involuntary squeak of fear. "Agent Romanoff, you say? Why not someone friendlier, like.. um, Agent Thompson? And what's actually on this flash drive?"

"I shot Peter yesterday- whoa, don't look at me like that, you know I meant shot as in to take a photo. So, yeah, I want Agent Romanoff to have the kid's picture so she can _personally_ join the manhunt for Peter's family. Be sure it gets to her." Clint ordered sternly.

Dr. Irvine sighed as he packed up his things. "Very well. I'll take it straight to her." And with that, he left.

Dr. Irvine pulled over at a gas station after about half an hour of driving through deserted wilderness. He had complained to himself throughout the drive about how inconvenient a location this was for his patient to be.

After setting up his car to get the fuel he needed to make it back to the Helicarrier, he headed inside the gas station. He was just about to grab a bag of gummy worms for the road when someone from behind yanked him away from the candy aisle and dragged him outside. The cashier was mysteriously nowhere to be found, which meant that Dr. Irvine was alone with the thug that had grabbed him.

The irritated doctor finally piped up. "Keith, enough! I was just about to call you; there's no need to get impatient."

The gas station thug Keith answered, "Yeah, well, my boss hates two things more than anything: waiting and loose ends. And ever since that spider-freak showed up at one of our ops, he's been a huge loose end. The Kingpin don't take too kindly to potential witnesses getting away alive."

Dr. Irvine interjected, "Yes, well, it's not my fault you're too dumb to check if you actually killed the brat before dumping his 'body' in the woods next door to an Avenger! You're lucky we have our little agreement, or else you would be answering to your boss about why you couldn't off a kid half your size."

Keith bristled at the man's insults, but kept his cool for the sake of the job. "So, do you have what I want or not?"

"The boy's name is Peter. Lucky for you he's got a severe case of amnesia, or else he might already have alerted the police to your boss's little operations in the city." He paused to reach into his briefcase. "Everything S.H.I.E.L.D. would have known about the case is on this flash drive. Including a recent picture."

"Good. Now that I know they're clueless, I can just shoot the boy and be done."

Dr. Irvine scoffed at the thug's incompetence. "Easier said than done, Hotshot. You can't kill Peter around Hawkeye the Avenger. You'll need to get him away from that house first. However, that's your problem. Now, do you have what I want?"

True to their usual dealings, Keith handed over the wads of cash he had used to buy information. Dr. Irvine drove away from the gas station with a smile on his face. Keith crushed the flash drive in his hand. He vowed to himself that the spider-boy Peter would be next.

 **Thanks for reading! Also, I slipped a kid's movie reference into this chapter by naming the thug Keith. Can anyone tell me what it's from? Leave your answers in the comments :)**


End file.
